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Rating: I would have liked to review something else, I would have liked to curse and scream my anger since lately I've been nothing short of aggravated, and since I can only live my life this way (... how cool am I!!!)
I would have liked to review those badass movies that no one bothers with because they are difficult, complicated, too social, but then you have to mix in a myriad of other things and in the end, you would end up being the classic pain in the ass exploiting the debaser spotlight to vomit your psychotic and absurd insanities, so I told myself… Let's listen to some good math-core!
Yes, because after the relaxing week of neo-impressionist-depression with Helios imagining being in the Marlon Brando Resort in Polynesia, the time has come to react and get off my hammock.
Hardcore has the charm of a racing motorcycle; one that weaves between treacherous and sneering turns, one that wheelies between two speeding trucks while they're occupying your lanes and don't give a damn, just to show them the middle finger once you're ahead of them.
Intense, prolonged, and almost obsessive in an engaging and aggressive rhythm... If you don't control it, it will screw you first, along with all your cliches and good-mannered animal training, integrated into this pretty Victorian society.
It has the ability to evoke your and its primal instincts in a Freudian Thanatos more unmanageable than ever, if not embarrassing, indeed.
Generally, those who approach this genre certainly do not have a feeling with the usual ascetic practices, so in vogue among frustrated slaves, bourgeois, hypocrites, and ordinary people (the normal ones to be clear: n.d.R).
Our aggressiveness, that of psychotic-nonconformists angry with the world, extricates itself between the poles of lying on a hammock, then to jump onto the seat of a BMW S 1000 RR or a Ducati 1198 R Special Edition with a flashy acceleration wiggle... So what does it matter, you’re not the one paying!!! And as Cuccarini said, dreams help you live better and we of the "Passionate" Club really need them since we don't have much influence on our Mars.
Am I/Are we pathological? Not until I have a stroke of ordinary afternoon madness, but if I continue to listen to the music of the devil, as named by “normal” people, I won't have any other choice.
Surely an album with a title like “Soundtrack to the Personal Revolution” does not aim for apathetic intentions, because while this sound wall comes crashing down on you, you won't be able to help but be overcome by it if you're not also registered in the Club of the Passionate. Furthermore, being their first album, it features more cryptic and edgy sounds compared to Heart of Darkness, more grindcore and melodic.
Trying thus to define each individual track within a single concept and genre simultaneously limits the technical and creative capacity of the group which nevertheless is there and can be seen.
Capacity whose flaw seems to be that they remain bound to the precepts of the genre evolving yes, but within a varied technical setting that is too schematized, I would dare say in a golden cage; just look at "Soundtrack To The Worst Movie Ever", "Boston Tea-bag Party", "Shooter McGavin", and "Famke" that exemplify extreme and dark grind/death metal but all characterized by the same structure, catching a breath in the middle of the song and then starting again and dragging at the end.
The album in perfect mathcore style, therefore, evolves with complete time changes dictated by a Dave Witte as always fearless and destructive, in full command when in contact with sounds that require significant technical ability but which have a duty to best stylize a mix of genres that combine Jazz fusion, hardcore punk with extreme metal; like "Dracula With Glasses", which in opening presents nu-metal influences then explodes with grind/death metal insertions accompanied by hints of jazz guitar.
"Dow Jones And The Temple Of Doom", "Mortimer", "Don Knotts", and "Human Steamroller" appear differently which manage to be plastic, rhythmic, and varied with time changes that baffle the listener, but this time supported by subtleties in sound organization that contribute to greater compactness between guitars and drums but also with melodic traits, the real strong point, which in albums like this would seem like water in the desert.
Tracklist Lyrics and Videos
03 Dow Jones and the Temple of Doom (02:48)
Consume. Defecate. Consume again.
Hollow and empty. Consume.
And this is where we're at.
Running in reverse.
I'll tell you what you need to be through what you own.
Through what controls your mind, your life.
Define yourself in my holy image.
The things you own end up owning you.
A seance of aesthetic brotherhood.
Fortitude not for the good for your soul
From IKEA nesting, to sound investing,
to temp jobs that define what we are.
A dime a dozen, hope is dead.
Work towards nothing.
Groth means nothing if it defines human life by what you can buy.
Give up your life.
Or what is left of your life.
Give up you life. Let go. I'm losing it.
I'm pulling my hair out tring to figure out what couch defines me as a person?
This is madness. This is hopelss.
My perfect little habitat and I still don't know myself.
Hope is sold in your head.
Residing in your head.
Existing only in your head.
Working for the economy.
But is this working for you?
You're running stride is just to keep the pace.
AND I WATCH THIS BURN YOU ALIVE.
Burn you alive. Burn your life. Bury you life.
You are all my children now.
Consumption: identity.
Function: Consuming again.
05 Shooter McGavin (02:48)
And this is where I'm supposed to be impressed, isn't it?
Let me tell you how overwhelmed I am.
Remind me to be in awe of you.
Remind me to lie. Remind me to smile.
Remind me to do anything but to express what's on my mind.
Because the truth might shake your stable ground.
You know this show is dark and drab,
and what you're saying doesn't brighten things much.
I don't care how fucking great your band is.
"You're so good. You're a god. I'm so impressed of what you've become."
I would be pleased if it meant something real to you.
Just walk away.
This is image and from my angle what you're doing doesn't blow my hair back.
No, I'm not moved. No reason to pay it any mind.
I don't care. I'd be pleased if it was something real to you.
But intil then I don't care. I don't care.
No reason at all for me to waste my time. None.
06 Mortimer (02:45)
I'm afraid you failed this term.
We can meet again on my terms.
You don't quite make the grade.
Your pleas, your opinions do not mean a thing.
You preen yourself in the eyes of all.
One call and it all comes down.
Your insolence. Your world of you.
One call and we'll watch it come down.
(One call and we'll watch it all come down).
I swear I'll make that call.
I swear- Nothing makes sence like nonsence.
It this life, you are kind, Bumbled, not.
What you've got to give is not what I want to receive.
Seven years to forgive?
I'll give you seven seconds to get out.
You gave me seven years of neglect.
I'll give you seven seconds to get out. (today).
It doesn't work that way. It doesn't work.
I've left you behind liek a fucking ticket
and that shit is never getting paid. Never.
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